


Blue of the Sea or the Sky's Azure

by Eglentyne



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9290123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eglentyne/pseuds/Eglentyne
Summary: How does a summer of training in Hasetsu deepen the relationship between Yuuri and Victor?Warnings: Japanese tanka and first person POV.Oh, and sex. Not for children.





	1. 皐月

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized dialogue denotes characters speaking in Japanese. This is done to maintain the flow of the story for English readers.

The steam from Yuuri’s bowl of pork cutlet fogs his glasses, like some impenetrable veil to his thoughts. As we sit hunched over the table he remains mindful of my glass, peaks over the rims on his face. He sets down dinner ever so often to refill it with the bottle of Asahi between us, even though he chooses not to share with me. Others about us are animated with conversation and it reminds me of back home, when I used to throw breadcrumbs to the birds when visiting the beach. Bustling, squawking, flitting over every morsel. Yuuri and I partake in silence.

I was sure the Hot Springs Competition, my campy, off-season patische, would have been the necessary motivation to pull back the curtain on Yuuri Katsuki. In a way it worked, for he had shown everyone a glimmer of the fervent vitality that had lured me in the first place, that fire-in-the-belly passion that stokes his most inspired performances. As soon as he stepped off the ice the inertia halted, like he plucked up the rink’s cold isolation and tucked it into himself.

As I gulp down more beer I watch him pick the last grains sticking to the sides of his bowl, and the action seems reverent to me. _Hashi_ poised just so on the rim he mumbles, _“Thank you for the meal,”_ and I wonder if he’s saying this partially to himself because his mother Hiroko is chattering away with Minako on the other side of the room. If he hadn’t done the work of winning me, to sit at his table this night, he wouldn’t have been served this particular meal. I thought he would be a little more enthusiastic about all that, crack a smile, take a selfie , propose a toast, something. My high expectations tend to spoil everything, so I keep them to myself.

But still, the awkward distance has become intolerable.

He rises and gives me some vague acknowledgment, a cursory head nod. I polish off the rest of the beer in one graceful gulp because I reason it’s time to address this strain between us. We can’t work like this.

“Yuuri, come outside with me for a moment.” With the fog on his glasses gone, I see his eyes widen, but he shakes the expression away and makes a noise that sounds like agreement.

Yuuri is probably not aware of a lot of things. He’s probably not aware that I never had intention to go back to Russia with Plisetsky the Plucky, no matter how many tantrums he had planned. I made good on my promise to him in my own way, because all that hot-headedness is going to propel Yuri in his senior debut, and that includes a program he didn’t know he wanted. Yuuri’s probably not aware that I still have those photos from last year’s banquet, that the music series “In Regards to Love” is inspired from that night, when I experienced love’s every permutation. How a man can play love games with me then turn around and show me the purest expressions of adoration is a mystery I’m still puzzling out. He’s probably not also aware that he skated his Eros program that day with the brazen force of a bull, unconstrained power carving over the treacherous surface of my own heart. I watched as he requested, and for the umpteenth time I lamented not taking him to my hotel room that past December night, all because it’s bad form to bed someone who’s drunk, no matter how capable they appear.

But not a drop of alcohol has touched Yuuri’s lips this night. The evening air contains that ambiguous briskness, the kind where I’m unsure if I really need another layer on my shoulders. It matters little, for as soon as the door slides closed I pull warm Yuuri to my chest because I’m sick from waiting.

“Do you really want me here, Yuuri?”

He feels ready to buckle, yet he holds tight to my arms as a plea to be released. “Of course I do, Victor, what is this about?”

“You’ve been quiet all evening. I don’t know if this is what you really want. Because you don’t seem very happy.” 

Yuuri looks out into the yard, like there’s something more interesting to catch a glimpse of in the darkness. “I think I’m still… trying to believe this is real? And it’s happening, you’re my coach?” Oh yeah, that’s what I’m here for. “I was sure I was going to lose.”

He hasn’t pulled away, but he hasn’t softened to my embrace either. I think back to how he hugged me before he went to skate, his weight on my shoulders I had been craving to feel again. His rigid posture right now tears me up. Everything about Yuuri shreds my nerves.

“Lose? What makes you think that?”

“Yurio delivered a better performance.”

“By my criteria for judging the competition? No, he didn’t. He met my expectations, nothing more. But you exceeded them.” And he would continue to do so, because I have to believe that, according to the trending pattern of his behavior. Maybe he needs more convincing, so I lift his chin, eliminating any other option but to look at me. “When you were skating out there today, what was really on your mind? It wasn’t pork cutlet.”

He gulps. “I don’t want to say.”

“Tell me anyway, I’m learning it’s better to not make assumptions about you.”

Yuuri gathers some fortitude to look me in the face, and it must be a real effort for him. But whenever he does that some unseeable change takes place in him and it causes this tremor in my chest. “I was nervous before I went out there…” understatement, he was near-petrified, “but then you looked at me and I had the strangest thought. Your eyes, eh, they really are that blue. I used to wonder if you wore contacts or something, but no, I never knew someone’s eyes could be so bright.”

He softens in my arms. The cool winds lifts the fringe off his forehead and he closes his eyes as if caressed. I think it’s very lovely so I cup his face with one hand, another still wrapped around him. “Are you saying you like my eyes?” I hum.

His brow furrows. “I like a lot of things about you, Victor.”

For months I had believed he wanted nothing to do with me until that video of him skating my program started circulating. It was like some clarion call, my abstract desires thrown into the void and him echoing them back to me. His interpretation stirred within me a formless kind of hope, how we skate with a hope for eternity. That is the Yuuri I want to experience, for I have been so starved, those pangs of hunger tighten my chest and only one thing can alleviate it.

His savory lips taste like the spoils of victory. Such a timid, cautionary kiss, like treading into the sea foam washed on the shoreline kind of kiss.

He trembles, whispers against my puckered mouth, “Victor… we shouldn’t.”

As he steps back my face burns with humiliation. Maybe I’m unfamiliar with not getting what I want. I try to play it cool. “I’m sorry, I’m just so moved by how you flatter me.”

He coils an arm around himself, like he’s just been violated, have mercy it was only a kiss. I watch him trace over his lips, his faraway look, like he’s sealing away some memory of the sensation of me on them.

I continue, “I hope you don’t think less of me for…”

“I could never think less of you. I never want to.” What little I see of his face, not covered by a trembling hand, scrunches up like he’s trying really hard to hold back something. “Nothing makes me happier than having you here as my coach, so please… _I beg you please…”_ because to say it only in English isn’t enough for him, “Don’t do that.”

The wind starts to feel  chilly and I cross my arms. Sharp nod. “Okay.” With a sigh I try and tuck away that formless mass of hope, but it seems to want to stick in my throat. I chastise myself, this is all very unprofessional, Yuuri is being the reasonable one here after all.

Maybe he sees my disappointment. “Please understand… it’s not because I don’t like it. I’m afraid… I might like it too much.”

“Okay.” I don’t understand that logic, but okay.

I watch him slide the door open. He doesn’t turn when he says, “That was my first.” When it slams shut I hear my heart crash into my belly as well.

Did Yuuri just tell me that he had never, not in his twenty-three years, despite that gorgeous body he has, possessing talents in greater measure, never so much as kissed another person? On the mouth? Romantically? I’m the first to do that?

Lord God, what is this unicorn you have placed before me?

I decide to stay outside with the lethargic chirping of crickets as I sort out my feelings on this anomaly. The moon hangs in the inky sky and I wonder if he had decided to stay out here with me in the moonlight, would he have seen into the softness of my eyes?

 

* * *

 

Hasetsu is a kind of Japan I have never had the opportunity to experience, a halcyonic place, squid fishers rising in the early morning light, streets whisper but the occasional passing vehicle, gardens and spaces for repose nestled among businesses and transit hubs. People do not bustle about in Hasetsu, do not vie for precious elbow room. Japanese cities are exceptionally clean, but here cleanliness feels sacred, the maintenance of it in line with a hushed rhythm of life as it patters against the shore, as it burbles down the mountainsides.

I’m accustomed to people’s stares, for the obvious reasons, but here the gawking locals deliver to me a message of otherness I had seldom experienced. Their unabashed glances make me uncomfortably aware of my tallness, my paleness, my angular features, that these characteristics might be quite rare. No one else in Hasetsu looks like me, and at least in places like Tokyo or Sochi or Sapporo there were different faces, different people. Yuuri had spent quite a long stretch of time in Detroit’s teeming diversity, but back in his home town that reinforces the comfort of uniformity, I wonder if he too looks upon me as exotic.

The isolation of it feels distracting, so I bridge this as best I can by attempting to integrate. Polite words are easy to learn because people use them constantly, and once I show the effort others make the expectation. I do it because I want Yuuri to see me as yielding, vulnerable in a place that is strange for me. Living in his home again, surrounded by his mother language, he often slips out of English and into the silkiness of Japanese. He realizes this shift only after he speaks then apologizes and repeats in a language we can both use. I pick up a lot like this.

And I come to find that the kind of language he uses is the same for his mother and father, an extra formality reserved for people in higher esteem. When he speaks to his sister, or to Yuuko and her family, it’s not there, replaced with a warm familiarity that fills in the spaces between clipped conversations.  These things fall silent when he is in front of me.

But when we’re in the rink he shows me a different kind of spirited expression, the full-body kind, his arms graceful, his shoulders confident, his thighs powerful, and his feet limber. His body is one that demands discipline, for if its stores of energy are not funneled toward its necessary purpose his muscles will rebel, his body bloats out. He takes all his passion and throws it into skating, for any expenditure of romantic feeling elsewhere is unproductive.

It wouldn’t be so hard if everything about Hasetsu wasn’t so lovely, including its people. And if Yuuri wasn’t so… well, Yuuri. This would be a very good time and location to fall in love, and one doesn’t get many opportunities to do that when it’s convenient.


	2. 水無月

After a few weeks we establish a comfortable routine where I run him hard for every hour of daylight and by the time the sun sets he’s ready for bed. Yuuri likes his alone time. But I do bore easily and I like to come up with excuses under the pretense of being his coach. My justification for bothering him this evening is what to do with this free program. He still hasn’t given me any music for it and how am I supposed to choreograph a routine for a program that has no music? When I knock on the door he doesn’t respond so I let out a customary, _“Please pardon me,”_ and let myself in.

Yuuri lies on his bed, deaf to anything beyond what earbuds might be playing into his head. He drapes an arm over his face to complete his own world of contained contemplation. He holds his phone on his chest. Legs open, one knee bent, I don’t get to see him relaxed this way, and I like it. His glasses are folded on his desk, and I pick them up to look through them. The room warps through those lenses and my eyes ache to adjust to the astigmatism I don’t have. It forces me to wonder if not seeing clearly when he skates is an advantage.

The walls are a patchwork of squares over the slightly tinted surface, like they were adorned with something at some point, but now bare. Textbooks stand on his desk, some English, most Japanese, but one thin hardback grabs my attention, so I pick it out of the row. Old, scuffed on the edges, and I can’t read what’s written on the front. The fact the title’s hand-written, not printed, makes this book’s age feel special.

“Victor!”

Yuuri sits up, having just noticed I’ve been standing here for an indiscernible amount of time. As he pulls out his earbuds he sputters, “What are you…?”

What is my purpose for being in here again? Something about the free program? He looks none too pleased about me being here. So I pull up his chair, sit backwards in it like I have every right to be here. _“If I may be so bold…”_ I hold out the book, _“What is this?”_

I must look like a fool, intruding on his time and space just to pester him about something I have no business fiddling with. But then, my invasiveness is something he’s starting to tolerate.

He takes the old hardcover with both hands, oh, it’s that special. He reads aloud the title and the words he uses seem so little compared to the majesty of how they’re written. “It means… ‘Sea’s Voice.’ Rare book, been with my family for a long time. Wakayama was a poet, everyone has read his work.”

Apparently I’m not included in “everyone,” because I’ve never heard of him.

He traces over the characters on the cover in a musing sort of way. _“It’s been a long time since I’ve read it… my glasses, if you please.”_ He points to them on the desk and I hand them to him. He slips them on in that one handed, fluid way that glasses-wearers do. I watch him turn the weathered pages over, left to right from my vantage. From their discoloration, I can tell this is a very well-loved book.

“Read one to me. Your favorite one.” I rest my chin over my folded arms on the back of the chair, flash him puppy eyes because that always works.

With a modest smile he flips the pages to a place that looks well-worn into the spine of the book.

Yuuri takes a breath. The words ripple from his lips in practiced cadence where even I can detect the rhyme and meter and as soon as he builds momentum it ends.

I blink. “That’s it?” He nods. “It’s really short.”

“A good poem doesn’t need many words to say a lot.”

“And what is it about? _The sea?_ I understood that word.”

“Well, it’s about a bird. It’s about… a lot of things.”

 I have a hard time imagining that a lot of things can be contained in such a short poem, but I’m willing to be surprised. “Like what? Tell me.”

He lowers the book into his lap. “I feel like it loses something if I have to explain it.”

“Well, why is it your favorite?”

Yuuri gets irritated when I start asking too many questions, but I don’t really care. He closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders, and drops his head back, neck exposed. I think it’s a rather stunning look for him. “I’ve always been… a loner? Separated from so much of what the world has to give. And that’s okay. This poem tells me that.”

Oh. I kind of feel like he deserves a hug for that. “But that’s so sad, Yuuri.”

He laughs, some tired kind of tittering noise. “You sound like the poem, the way you say that.”

“So it’s a sad poem.”

“No, it’s a beautiful poem, that questions sadness.” He looks back at me, the impression of a reserved smile on his features. “Kind of reminds me of you, now that I think about it.”

“How so?”

He shakes his head, doesn’t want to share. Maybe he’s shared enough. I’m determined to discover what it is he won’t tell me, so I rise from the chair and plop down next to him on the bed, peering at the script in the book. Almost all of it looks impossible for anyone to make sense of, but in the first line of the verse I spot a character that looks familiar: 鳥 I see it every day in the rink, that advertisement for that barbecue chicken place we have to pass on our way to Ice Castle.

“Chicken.”

“What?”

I point to it in the book. _“Chicken.”_

“It can be chicken, but here it just means ‘bird.’”

I point to the character before it: 白 “And this one?”

“Means ‘white.’”

“So… _white bird?”_

He nods and looks almost impressed.

“Like a swan?” I venture.

“No, like a seagull.”

I point to another familiar character: 海 _“Sea of…”_

I still can’t make sense of hiragana and Yuuri crosses over my hand on the page where I’m trying to read. “ _Blue,_ but blue is said here, in the line above it, see? This kanji means ‘blue.’”

He points to the central line comprising of three characters: 空の青 That feels significant, something about it suggests wideness, profundity.

I point to 空 “This one here? Like… it means something big?”

“The sky.”

Leaning to read this book, I realize that our faces had gotten very close. He gives me a sideways glance over the rims of his glasses and I back up. “So… like a seagull, in a blue sky, over a blue sea. That does sound beautiful.”

“There’s more to it, but yeah.”

I’ve been putting in a lot of effort, so I feel justified when I close my hand over his on top of the book. I lean into his shoulder. _“Let’s go for yakitori. Because this reading is hard…”_

I just want an excuse to spend more time with him, but it doesn’t appear to be working. He chuckles nervously, _“Please forgive me, I am so very tired…_ and I’m trying to think of what to do for music for this program.”

Oh yeah, free program music. That’s what I wanted to talk to him about. My fingers lace with his. “It should be something that feels big and blue. Something that makes you want to soar. But come on, you worked hard today. Come out with me, it’ll be really quick.”

He squirms on the bed. “No sorry, maybe some other time.”

It takes Yuuri two languages to shoot me down, so I decide not to push it anymore. I relinquish his hand. “Hey… can I borrow this book? Please?”

“To read it?”

“What else?” I’m learning to be literate in his language, for him. I’m really making the effort here.

He closes the book and passes it to me as I stand up. This time I receive it with both hands and he does that head bob, and I mimic it. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. _Thank you. I will be most careful.”_

Something about his posture suggests he regrets seeing me leave. If he were to ask me to stay, I would, but he’s tired, I’ve pestered him enough, that damn barbecue place probably isn’t even open this late.

Before leaving, I point to the walls. “It feels a little bare in here. You should hang some pictures or something.”

And he yelps.

_“I’ve been rude~ Goodnight!”_

 

* * *

 

白鳥は  
哀しからずや  
空の青  
海のあをにも  
染まずただよふ

I pour over that poem for an hour, translating and trying to understand every radical of each kanji, until I come to a meaning that sounds satisfying to me:

“Seagull, are you not sad? You hover, undyed by the blue of the sea or the sky’s azure.”

The next morning I suggest we visit the beach.

 

* * *

 

Ever since he brought to me this music for his free program, Yuuri and I listen to it every moment we have to sit. In the dining room we share earbuds at the table, me with my notebook, song on repeat, and none of this is considered rude if we look like we’re working.

He suggests, “Camel spin, right here. In combination.”

Something has changed over the past week, like he’s found some new positive determination and that pleases me. It’s something he can feel proud about, and Yuuri needs everything to line up just so in order to tap into that confidence. Maybe that makes him cuter, sexier.

The music slides into its more pensive rhythm. “Ina Bauer during this slow segment,” I propose.

All that work at landing his jumps consistently has paid off and we had already determined some combinations in the second half. He hasn’t shied away from the challenge of this ambitious program. It’s really starting to show in his abs, and I like that too.

Yuuri waves his hands in excitement as the music crescendos. “That step sequence we’ve been practicing, that has to come at the end, just before that quad toe loop.”

“You can pull it off.” I nudge him and he starts in on his bashful act again, how he hunches his shoulders and peeps over his glasses. He likely knows by now I think it’s adorable. The song loops back to the beginning.

Hiroko comes around the corner carrying a tray. _“Vicchan, another beer?”_ I love how she calls me that.

_“Yes please, if you would be so kind.”_ She had every intention to bring it to me whether I request it or not. She even starts placing Балтика on her drink orders for the inn, her way of making me feel at home, but she didn’t even need to do that to make me love her so. Yuuri will never understand how spoiled he is to have a mother who effortlessly provides comfort.

Again Yuuri does not share with me, says this beer is “too thick.” Instead he fiddles with his tea cup, which I know he’s thinking about something again. I’ve begun a mental catalog of Yuuri’s nervous behaviors. When he picks at his cuticles it’s because he feels foolish. When he takes an inordinate amount of time to lace up his skates at practice it’s because he’s trying to think of some way to impress me. When he takes off his glasses to wipe them with the hem of his shirt he means, ‘I need a moment to organize my thoughts.’ How he turns his tea cup on the table now means, ‘I’m trying not to show that something you just said makes me feel wonderful.’ He carries a delicate smile and that tender, far-away gaze.

I lean in to murmur, “What has you looking so wistful?”

“Oh, just eh…” He does the thing with his glasses and I give him a moment. “I feel really good about this. I believe in this program, this music.”

“I believe in it too.”

“I know.” Yuuri puts his glasses back on and locks eyes with mine. He finds my hand on the tatami, his touch warm and electrifying. He’s started initiating more of these moments of contact between us. “It’s just… something about it feels… everlasting? And I want to carry that feeling, even after…”

He breaks eye contact, and I know what he means: when the season is done, when we part ways.

“Yuuri, you’re going to skate a season that people will never forget. And I have a front row seat to all of it.” Whenever I speak in definite terms, and my involvement in it, his russet eyes go wide like he’s just heard a revelation. He doesn’t think in this way, for his aspirations always seem to come with a, “it would be nice if…” Dreams phrased like that never come to pass.

“Victor…” He never says my name with an honorific. Not _san_ , or _sensei,_ but he has one for everyone else. They understand where they stand with him, how he sees them in relation to him. I still wish for some certainty in how he views me, what he expects from me, especially when his words don’t match up to his tone, or his posture. And when he says my name  like that I know he means he’s happy I’m here with him.

His hand is still on mine. I’m rather tired of listening to this song a half-dozen times, and I’ll be happy to listen to it more tomorrow. At the moment I don’t want any senses distracted from Yuuri. I stop the track, pull out my earbud. As I trace along his jaw his lips start to pout and that’s sexy too.

_“Join me in the onsen, please.”_ It’s courteous, but I learned if I get too formal in my language it really makes him uncomfortable, like I’m being too generous. And if I present it as a polite command rather than a request he won’t say no.

My eyes and my touch convey another level of meaning and he nods.

We rise and Hiroko insists that she will clear the table, shooing me away when I offer to help.

In the bath house Yuuri isn’t at all bashful about nudity, when even stripping doesn’t reflect a sense of self-exposure. At the same time his body language possesses a unique sense of personal containment. Nude, but not naked, I suppose. It comes from growing up where the concept of shame in one’s body doesn’t exist but respectful modesty does.

He sits his stool facing the wall because he prefers not to engage with anyone when he showers. He has a methodical approach to washing, right to left then top down, but his face last. Not that I watch too intently or anything. If I’m caught staring he usually sends me that disapproving look. He has that perfected, just like everyone else around here.

Yuuri is far more amiable when we move outside to the hot spring. We dip in the pool, stretch, repeat, because there is really no better way to loosen the muscles. He’ll let me watch him, touch him in this space, because he’s my athlete, I care about his physical condition. Yes, that is all it is, so I keep telling myself. Perfectly acceptable behavior.

I think about Yakov, and I laugh a little. Never ever. No wonder he is so furious with me.

Even after stretching he comments that he feels tension in the neck and shoulders. A lot of spinning tends to do that. We ease into the pool once more. He rests over the edge as I sit behind him to massage his shoulders, working down his spin, hitting tender spots along the way. At this point I’m not doing this as his coach, I just like the little moans he makes. When I get to his hips it’s no longer a massage, it’s just touching and he’s doesn’t seem to take issue with that either.

I love the way his body feels. I love what it can do, and how it looks. I wonder if he feels comfortable in his own skin. What does he consider pleasurable? The heat and the steam melt away Yuuri’s tension, and maybe he’s open to more exploration.

“Lean back on me,” I say, resting against the stone.

He turns around, settling between my legs. Oh good God does his weight feel heavenly.

“Like this?” He cranes his head to look back at me.

“Yeah.” My arms encircle his chest and he holds to them, in a secure, trusting sort of way. “Yuuri… do you think I’ve been a good coach?”

“Yes, I think you’re wonderful. Why do you ask?”

Just hearing that he thinks I’m wonderful makes me giddy. “Because no one is ever perfect one hundred percent of the time. We all need improvement. I just want to let you know, if there’s something you feel I could do better, you can say it.”

His brows knit. “I don’t really know what you mean.”

“What would make me a better coach, Yuuri?”

He rests his head over my shoulder. “Are you asking for criticism?”

“Sure, call it that.”

He sighs, and that sensation creeps down into the pit of my stomach and everything tingles. His nose is pressed right into my neck and I could kiss him right now, but I remind myself that is off-limits.

 “Sometimes I think you try too hard.”

“Ha! You’re not the first to tell me that.” I trace lazy circles over his shoulders and he doesn’t appear to be opposed to this kind of attention. “I’m something of a perfectionist. And I think I care too much. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far if I was any other way.”

“Then I don’t have a criticism for you, Victor. Because you are you, nothing I have to say is going to change what you do or how you do it. But it’s nice to know how you feel. I do hope though… that you are kind to yourself. We can be hard on ourselves, when we try to be perfect.”

Maybe that’s one of those fundamental things that make me and Yuuri alike. I sometimes wonder if that is a source of his anxiety, the fear of falling short, of disappointment. He may build such impossible standards for himself, and not meeting them debilitates him. No wonder he was such a wreck when I showed up.

But if he would only scoot that shapely ass a little further back, that would be nice.

He continues, “I sometimes tell myself that it’s okay to be patient, and take my time.” Okay, we are not obligated to agree on everything.

 “Yuuri… we don’t have the luxury of time.” I trail down his arms, collecting one of his hands and bringing it to the side of my face. I so want to lay a kiss in his palm, sweet Yuuri, who can accomplish so much more than what he believes he’s capable of. His lips are practically on my flesh and the base of my neck tingles.

I decide to change the subject. “I like your touches. I wish you would touch me more.”

His fingers stray to my neck, threading through my hair on the back of my head, oh my God. “Like how you touch me?”

“Or more, if you want.” My caresses reach below the surface of the water, and I patter over Yuuri’s tummy, a smooth glide down his thigh. How he whispers my name and flexes against me, surely he wants to feel pleasure by my hand. I can’t help but be enticed to plant my lips on his soft neck because it’s right there.

“What is your intention?”

“I want you to feel good.”

He lurches in the water, and I graze against… my face feels hot from discovering that he’s gone rather thick and firm from my attention.

Yuuri thrashes away from me and sputters, “N-not in the onsen.”

“Then elsewhere?”

He doesn’t even look at me as he rises from the water, grabbing his towel to cover himself, like he has just discovered personal shame. He stomps back inside, not so much as an “excuse me,” or “kiss my ass,” and I wonder if I have offended another one of his cultural sensibilities, that I don’t have the sensitivity for what he would consider common sense.

Then again, all his actions felt like an expression of desire, but perhaps I was misreading. So much of his body language suggests a want for intimacy, yet he skirts away from it whenever the situation presents itself.

I climb out of the pool, back to the changing area to towel off and put on a robe. Yuuri deserves an apology, despite my personal frustrations.

I knock on his door and call, “Yuuri, can I talk to you?”

I hear some rustling, a thump, and then a strained, “Not right now.”

“… I want to apologize—“

“I accept your apology.”

Yuuri is not in the habit of interrupting me, but it sounds like he’s trying to get me to leave without actually telling me to do so. Something about this situation tells me that it would be moment to barge in. “Yuuri… what are you doing?”

Silence.

“May I please come in?”

Silence.

 

* * *

 

Even though the word for seagull is _“kamome_ 鴎” Yuuri calls them the colloquial “ _umineko_ 海猫” like they’re pesky neighbors for picking in the garbage pails by the vending machines. Insatiably curious birds, come right up to anyone if they suspect there’s food. They’re not like the seagulls back home. With black feathers on their tails they look like they’re dressed in funerary vestments.

It makes me wonder if maybe Wakayama was looking at these birds when he wrote his _tanka._ I wonder about his question of sadness. The poet writes _“kanashi_ 哀し” with a strange character. The conventional one 悲 conveys the notion of a burdened heart. The one Wakayama chooses is a more archaic, pitiable kind of sorrow. Instead of open wailing, this one expresses its grief in silence, yet worn like an impenetrable robe that weighs one’s whole being. And it makes sense, that the bird in the poem is not a squawking bird, but one that exists without sound or color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next time you watch Yuri!!! on Ice, look for these Easter eggs:
> 
>   * Yuuri runs past a yakitori restaurant on his way to Ice Castle in episode 1. Orange or yellow sign, funny-looking rooster. It is also advertised at the skating rink. You won't unsee it.
>   * In episode two, just before Victor is introducing "On Love: Eros," the scene cuts to seagulls. Really quick. And you'll start looking for them everywhere.
>   * Even though there's mention of seagulls in the beach scene in episode 4, the moment when Yuuri is sitting in his room making notes and wondering about his free program. He writes 黒鳥の湖 which I can best surmise as "Swan Lake" (literally, black bird of the lake) Below that, there's some sentence about 白鳥 but my ability to read hiragana is terrible.
> 

> 
> So, if you know of someone who has translated that page on Yuuri's desk, please inform me. I'm extremely curious! 
> 
> Russian note: Балтика is "Baltika," I think one of the largest beer manufacturers in Russia, and its headquarters are of course located in St. Petersburg. The no. 4 is a dark lager and is one of my favorites. 
> 
> Leave a comment, for it makes me feel loved and I respond to them.


	3. 文月

_“Tadayou_ 漂う” means to float on a liquid surface, or to hover in the air as a scent on the breeze. An older meaning of the word implies instability, being directionless, wandering aimlessly, like a boat without a rudder.

Wakayama chose not to write the word this way in his poem, but instead as ただよう, for the kanji impresses too strongly a water element when the intention was precarious balance. A seagull can float on the water, or drift in the air, hover between two worlds of sky and sea, yet it makes its residence in neither.

 

* * *

 

I only ever cared to read that one poem from the book Yuuri lent to me. After going untouched for weeks, I decide returning it is a perfectly good excuse for visiting him in the evening. Strange, that even though his room is but at the end of the hall, traversing it feels like a great distance.

He greets me at the door, gives a grateful nod for having the book returned to him, and slides it into its rightful place on the desk. He sits in his chair, stating neither an invitation to stay, nor some subtle dismissal. I interpret this as him waiting for me to make that decision, so I topple onto his bed with no regard to how he might feel about it. Lying on my stomach I prop a pillow under me.

“Did you enjoy the book?” Yuuri crosses his arms.

“I didn’t read it. Except for the one poem, about the white bird.”

“Shame, the other _tanka_ are good too.”

“I’m sure. But I can’t find the time, or the energy.” The sheets on Yuuri’s bed smell like him, potent yet delicate. Being surrounded by his things feels like wading in a bowl of warm milk. My eyelids begin to droop. “All my focus is on coaching you, Yuuri. At the end of the day, I’m too tired.”

Our practice earlier seemed a little strained. He won’t tell me what is troubling him. It could be the Grand Prix announcements, or the upcoming local championship that he doesn’t feel ready for. Or it could be that I have stopped acting so familiar with him. I can only handle but so much of his sharp rejection. And yet I lounge atop his sheets, crave his presence outside of the rink, pining like a lovesick boy when a wiser man would know when to quit.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Yuuri says as I close my eyes. Chances are, if I were to fall asleep in his bed he would just roll out a futon and sleep on the floor. Typical Yuuri behavior.

I prop my head up and face him. He sits with his legs crossed too. He’s probably not even aware of just how prickly he is, and I know he never means to be. “You said that that _tanka_ reminds you of me, but I have difficulty seeing how.”

He starts picking at his cuticles, and that’s never a good sign.

I continue, “When I really sat down and tried to understand it, I got this impression of something… untouchable. It makes me wonder, is that how you see me? As some majestic white bird?”

Because I would have hoped that after three months of sharing meals, and private training sessions, he would have stopped regarding me as sacrosanct. He knows what brand of shaving cream I like, and how many beers I can have before I start getting too bawdy. He knows I’ll listen to Tchaikovsky when I do sit to read in the evenings and that I also don’t own a pair of house slippers.

He looks at the floor. “I don’t really want to explain, it would sound stupid.”

“Nothing you have to say is stupid, Yuuri.”

“Why do you even care?” He pulls his glasses off and they clatter onto the desk. He holds his face in one hand, his elbow supported by the table’s edge, which forces him to swivel away from me. “Why are you always trying to pry when I wish you would…?”

I sit up on the bed. He would never be so rude to tell me to leave, but I know when I’m not wanted. “I’m sorry to bother you. _I’m sorry, truly.”_

Just as I rise to leave he mumbles, “I don’t see you like the bird in the _tanka.”_ As Yuuri looks up at me from his chair, I realize that without his glasses he doesn’t have to see my face in sharp focus. “But I sometimes wonder if you are… untouchable. Like I can never truly… collect you.”

I sit back down on the bed and he continues. “All of who you are, and what you’ve been to me… Victor, I idolized you!”

“What, you don’t idolize me anymore?” I smirk, trying to bring some lighthearted banter to the situation. Yuuri always has to be so intense about everything, yet I don’t think he’s even aware of the depth of his thoughts and emotions.

“I admire you, I can never stop admiring you… but it’s not the same.”

My gaze drifts to the patchy walls and I often wonder what pictures used to adorn them.

Yuuri closes his eyes, open palms trembling in front of him as though a thought is about to slip between his fingers. “The reason why it reminds me of you… because your eyes. Blue, like the sky… and the ocean, my life, you are in every part of my life, Victor. Can anyone know something that is so big… know it to the fullest… how can I?

“And I wonder, all that you have given me, will it ever make a difference at all? I think you’re a terrific coach, but… look at me. In a way… I see myself as the bird. _Pesky black-tailed seagull._ Just drifting along… having never soaked up any of your genius.”

Oh.

Yuuri Katsuki doesn’t give himself nearly enough credit. And the sadness I feel for that has me speechless.

He grabs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I knew that was going to come out stupid.”

I sink onto my knees before him. What am I even doing this for anymore? “Not stupid, oh my God, Yuuri.” I won’t bother to ask if it’s okay to embrace him, my arms wrapped around his middle, pulling him off the back of his chair. I nuzzle into his chest, his rapid pulse against my ear. He feels tense against me and he’s uncertain of what to do with his arms, so he pats the top of my head and that makes me feel even more exposed, as my heart already flutters from what I had just heard. “I wish you thought more of yourself. And I wish you would hug me back.”

His arms shake as they drape over my back.

“Tighter, Yuuri.”

I hear sniffling. Before I can look up to verify the reason for my heart dropping into my stomach, he clutches my head to his chest so tight I have difficulty breathing. He trembles against me, legs parting so he can be pulled closer, and I cling to him in response. I know this has to be all my fault. Maybe I really do care too much.

“Yuuri…? Why are you—“

“I don’t know!” He sobs.

His breath shudders as he strokes my hair, like petting me calms him, so I let him. I want to crane my neck, kiss whatever tears might be falling, but he won’t let me. He can have his cry any way he likes. And maybe I prefer it this way, where I don’t need to say anything to console him because I wouldn’t know what to say to make it better. Even he isn’t sure what set him off. I’m still convinced it’s my fault.

After a moment Yuuri loosens his grip on me. “I’m sorry.” Sniff. “I’m just being—“

“Don’t you dare say it. Look at me.” He does so, with those red puffy eyes and his face blotchy and wet. Yuuri has the kind of cry face that’s painful to look at but I try and put that out of my mind because he needs to hear this. “I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself stupid. Ever. Because you’re not. Do you really think I would come all the way to Hasetsu for an idiot? No, I dropped everything for you because you’re brilliant.”

I rest my chin on his chest while I look up at him. “And I need you to believe you are worth that. I need you to know that you are incredible, with or without me. I need the world to see what I see in you. That’s what we’re doing, right?”

His face pinches like he’s going to cry again, but he bites his lip and nods. I wipe at his face, not in some tender loving way, but in a way a coach would.

“I’m so afraid of disappointing you,” he croaks.

“If you put your whole courageous heart into it, you won’t. You’re going to skate an amazing season.”

“Victor.” He rakes the hair out of my face, looks me in the eye, and I know this close he really can see me clearly. “Promise me. That you’ll believe in me when I can’t believe in myself.”

“Absolutely.” Anything to stop him from crying. I will pour everything I have into him if that’s what it takes. You are no white bird, Yuuri Katsuki.

He bends slightly to lay his puckered lips on the top of my forehead, right before my hairline. He lingers a moment, the heat of it traveling along my nerves and it feels as though he has imparted upon me a blessing.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri makes love on the ice. He dips and bows, his languid legs pushing him into effortless inertia, working with natural forces to balance in a perpetual state of free fall. While sure and steady, his torso twists, he carves an arc into the ice, his arms swinging as counterweight, and it’s gorgeous, alluring, Yuuri Katsuki is a paragon of beauty.

His impenetrable heart, like the ice he flies along. I can make an impression upon it, but will I ever cut through? His mood is ice white, but in his warm russet eyes I see a yearning for something to saturate him, yet he doesn’t know the words.

So instead I suggest he skate like his whole heart is laid before the arena, and his blades must decipher its secrets.

 

* * *

 

Despite the intolerable humidity, there is no better time to visit Japan than in the summer. Almost every week there is a celebration taking place somewhere, and the Kyushu Fireworks Festival has a reputation of being one of the most spectacular. Perhaps it’s how Hasetsu Castle will shine multicolored from the explosive display of pinwheels, rockets whistling to shower rainbow sparks into the harbor.

Yuuri and I walk along the stalls of street vendors, the smell of grilled meats and squid, the whizzing and ringing of games as children cheer, the lanterns glowing off Yuuri’s smiling face. He seems more excited for the fireworks than I am, and I recall that he hasn’t lived in Hasetsu for the past five years. If this is a normal celebration one comes to expect this time every year, what does it do to a person when they aren’t around to miss it? I watch people walk about in their yukata, ladies with flowers pinned in their hair, geta clacking on the pavement with every step. To think people live with such vibrant color and heartfelt merriment… Saint Petersburg will be muted and morose in comparison when I have to go back.

Yuuri says, “America has something of its own fireworks festival in July, but it’s not the same. I couldn’t get excited, but then it was never for me to get excited about.” He stops at a stall and buys a box of sparklers. “After the fireworks we would always go down to the beach and light these. I haven’t done that since I was a kid. It’s silly, sure, but I miss it.” He explains all of this as we walk away from the festivities, past the yakitori place and toward Maizura Bridge.

“We’re not going back yet, are we?”

“No, we’re going to watch the fireworks from the bridge. We all know it’s one of the best places. Just don’t tell the people from out of town.” He winks.

I feel something turn in my stomach. I can think of one reasonable solution to alleviating this affliction, which is to hold his hand. I try to play it casual, first brushing my fingers against his with the natural swing of my step. When he doesn’t scoot away after several attempts of that, I pull his hand into mine and continue my bouncing gait, looking straight ahead and hoping he plays along with me.

Out of my periphery I watch him look down at our conjoined hands. He doesn’t pull away, but his palm sweats, and I wonder if he’s looking for an excuse to take his hand back. But then he squeezes it and my heart feels like it’s just done a backflip. When I smile at him I too feel like a child once more, to be so delighted over such a simple thing as holding hands while walking. I had forgotten how to feel wonder for simple things.

We stop at that lookout where the fisherman (Nakahashi I believe his name is) stands every morning and much to my dismay there are others who have already staked the place, but they don’t seem to mind sharing. He lets go of my hand. They rattle off something to Yuuri, which I can only register as a question about skating. Yuuri responds with something that sounds positive and a mention of his free program. They smile and nod, Yuuri smiles and nods, and with niceties out of the way I take his hand in mine once more because I’m enjoying it.

Yuuri pulls out his phone, my occupying one of his hands not hampering his ability to fiddle with some app. “They should be starting soon.”

And I want his full attention. “I want to say… just from experiencing this place, I have learned so much about you.” As soon as I say it, it sounds less profound than how it was just in my head.

He smiles and puts away his phone. “I was afraid you would think Hasetsu is boring.”

“Not at all!”

“When I was younger, I wanted nothing more than to get out of this town. But… it’s home, you know? Don’t you miss your home, Victor?”

I have thought about it, how I cut ties with so many just to uproot myself and how there is so little urging me to go back. The Katsuki family has been so accommodating, but it’s not like this is a permanent arrangement. Despite being made to feel at home, I can’t pinpoint my precise foundation.

We hear a sharp whistle in the distance, and with a great bang a pinwheel of light blossoms high above the castle, followed by a cascade of dazzling explosions. Yuuri’s face is alight with the spectacle and he points, _“Look, look!”_ as he bounces on the balls of his feet and grips the railing. Rockets fire off in precise synchronization, the night sky a canvas to this delicate arrangement of color and fire, for the most breathtaking work of art is the kind experienced in fleeting moments.

A deafening shot causes me to jump. Yuuri laughs and holds me around the waist. Even though he means it as a gentle reassurance, the air feels pulled from me. I anchor myself by wrapping around his shoulders. The volley of red and yellow and green cascade through the sky, reflect in the waves below us, concepts of up and down, here and there, now or later, none of it makes sense.

At some point Yuuri is watching less of the fireworks and I realize he is staring at me. _“What is it?”_

_“Fireworks in your eyes.”_

The finale illuminates as though the sun decided to make some rebellious excursion into the night, the array so bright I have to squint. Explosions snap the air that I feel it in my chest, in my feet. I lean over to whisper, _“I don’t miss home. Not one bit.”_ I watch the most scintillating moment of the show reflect off his glasses, his wide eyes.

When the sky fades to silent black, no moment of quiet feels more complete. The street lamps overhead seem dull by comparison. Our faces inches apart, I hear his breathing, feel his whole body pulse. At what point did we turn to one another, his hands possessing my waist?

“Victor…”

_“Yes?”_ Kiss me.

Yuuri releases me. _“Let’s go to the beach.”_ But as he turns he grabs my hand and pulls me into a run. This seems a perfectly acceptable way to work off whatever was exchanged between us on that bridge. Street lamps catch the sheen on his temples, but he appears more energized than anything. I don’t want him to know I’m losing my breath as we run past the temple, across the dunes and beach grass.

In the darkness we’re greeted by the boom of the surf, the briny smell of sea spray. No moon dances off the crests of the waves, or sparkles in the beach sand. I watch Yuuri pull the box of sparklers from his back pocket, complete with matches, no ceremony to any of this. From a single flame pops a miniature frenzy of sparks at the end of a long flimsy chord. He lights another, and both his arms whip this flaring outbreak around him. He twists and jumps across the sand, the grace of his turns never stunted, spinning light trails and flinging sparks in all directions. He raises one over his head, like a whirling halo, and as the light catches on the planes of his body I realize he’s acting out one of his step sequences.

And I hear the symphony, as though he’s aligned himself to the time of the waves driving against the shore. The music in him, the ocean in him, he doesn’t even need the ice to bring it out of him, and it’s mesmerizing.

Yuuri halts the swing of the sparklers as he faces my direction. “You try.”

“I’d rather watch you.”

“But I want you to dance with me.”

I can’t take this, the swelling in my chest, the avoidance for the sake of professionalism, none of this is sensible anymore. It was never sensible to begin with, that this man would entice me by his brilliance, and I would fly across the world to make good on a drunken request. I’m tired of denying what this is.

Sparklers sputter and die as they are dropped in the sand. I rush to him, my kiss pleading that he reciprocate, my caress on his face imploring that he not pull away. I hold to trembling Yuuri’s waist, for I am firm and unwavering in this. It’s my turn to take his breath away, because how long have I been waiting? Three months? No, seven months, since the first time I danced with him. No, a lifetime, because no one has ever been so heartfelt in their want for me, and never have I been more willing to give it.

For a brief moment I fear his rejection, and I would have no choice but to let the current take me out to sea. Do not deny me again, I can’t bare it. His mouth is open to mine, wet and desperate, a croon of pleasure, and his fingers inch along my scalp as he pulls at me. Passionate Yuuri, the one who ensnares me, who I would allow to break my heart a hundred times.

He whispers against my lips, _“Why?”_

_“Because you are so beautiful.”_ And I like that word, 美しい, for it’s the very sound one makes when their breath is caught in their throat, and the world pauses for a moment.

Yuuri clings to my shoulders, never as tightly as this. “I didn’t want… I have tried… to not…”

So upset, he can’t find his words, but I know what he means to say. It wasn’t for lack of interest or attraction. He had been trying to prevent anything romantic to happen between us, and working at it harder than I. He probably feels defeated for it.

“I know, Yuuri. But it’s not doing either of us any good.”

He buries his face in my neck, hot breath on my skin, and I run my hands along his back. Everything I’ve been holding in wants to surge forth and I don’t know how to sort any of it, so instead of trying to make sense of anything I push up his chin to kiss him again. Yuuri’s hard chest against mine, his hands hold to my sides like they belong there. He moans into me, his passion raw and true and for me alone. His tongue grazes over my lip to request entrance and I feel a spark has been lit within me, I’m reeling, dropping to my knees and pulling him down with me.

The sand cradles me, so much more forgiving than the surfaces we’re used to falling on. Yuuri is bent on hands and knees above me, a shower of stars blinking around him, dusting his shoulders. Because I can’t see him, I hold his cheek under the frame of his glasses, just to make certain that he’s still with me.

“Victor… what does this mean?”

“It means I’m still your coach. And maybe this is something we both want to explore too.”

Yes, explore Yuuri in every sense. I pull him to me, his weight making me sink deeper into the sand, and I feel it working under my shirt, into my hair as Yuuri combs his fingers along my scalp. I don’t care, these sensations make it all the more memorable, and his loving hands are touching me.

“I didn’t want to complicate anything,” he whispers.

“It’s been complicated, Yuuri.”

“Well now things are more complicated.”

“I don’t see it that way. It’s a lot simpler when we can be honest with ourselves. And each other.”   

He doesn’t realize how erotic he is, with how his hips push into mine, and the little gasps he makes when I run my hands over his fantastic rear end. But how he touches me when he says, “You know I’ve never… that you’re my…”

“I know.” I never thought I would be someone’s first, not at twenty-seven.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Oh Yuuri.” I hold to him super-tight. “I’m very sure.”

“For how long?”

He pulls my face close to his and I’ve never felt so wanted.

“Do you assume that I would lose interest in you…?”

“No I mean… how long will this last?”

I kiss the palm of his hand. “As long as it needs to.”

“And then?”

I don’t want to think about our inevitable parting. I don’t want to think of the “what ifs” when I have Yuuri with me in this moment, and I’m certain of his presence the next day, and for the next week, and thereafter, because that is enough. So I kiss him again, and whisper a promise against his lips, “We’ll be better for having known each other.” That is the only certainty I can offer.

When he kisses me again, his lips feel like they’re pulled back into a smile. “Okay, Victor. Then I will do my best.”

I laugh, and I want to kiss him for every star that shines above us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's the name for the fisher on the bridge? Does he even have one? So I gave him the name Nakahashi, and it literally means, "middle of the bridge." Funfact. I like that guy because he reminds me of those kinds of people who become significant features, simply for being there at the same time every single day. When they're not there, you feel it. 
> 
> 美しい, utsukushii, one of my favorite words in Japanese. 華々しい, hanabanashii, is a pretty extravagant word, and people who know me are familiar with my predilection for florid words. 
> 
> If you've read this far, hit the kudos button to show your love. Leave a comment and I'll happily respond, because I adore your feedback.


	4. 葉月

It’s strange, how Japanese can point to something pale blue _голубой_ , or dark blue _синий_ , or even green _зелёный_ , and think of it all as the same color, like nature presents itself in one wavelength of light.

My first lover used to call me _“golubchik.”_ He was a charming, older gentleman, actor, poet, singer, real Renaissance man, gruff but with gentle hands. He liked my long hair because it made me look like some damsel, his _“devka.”_ I was too young and stupid to know what to do with his affection, and when my career as a skater was taking me places I didn’t have time for him. The next year I heard a new love song on the radio, and it was him singing about _“the blue-eyed girl who got away,”_ very popular for a time. At sixteen, I won my first medal in the senior division, and no one knew the number one hit that season was about me. I thought I had forgotten about all this.

 

* * *

 

My door slides open and causes Makkachin to raise his head and that stirs me from sleep. At first I think that it’s just him repositioning on the bed, but the weight shift of the mattress feels heavier. The covers turn up and a cool draft flutters above me, then settles, to be replaced by the heat of an arm around my naked waist.

“Victor?”

“Yes, Yuuri?”

I haven’t wanted to push any expectation that he’s not ready to take on himself. With Yuuri, he takes things on in his own way, in his own time. So maybe I had dropped the hint that if he ever wants to visit my bedroom he would be welcomed, and he can do whatever he pleases with that.

He nuzzles his face between my shoulder blades and murmurs, “Is this okay?”

I back into his embrace, the curl of his chest, legs tangling around his cold feet. I lace fingers with his against my middle. It’s been so long since I’ve been held like this, loved like this.

Makkachin gets up and settles on the floor, not interested in vying for space on the bed. In his dog mind, he might be thinking that Yuuri has come to take the place of his job, because he knows his owner doesn’t like to sleep alone at night. But I have to wonder if Yuuri has more than sleep in mind.

Yuuri’s hands explore my skin with timid curiosity, one treading up my chest, and then another across my back. “Do you always sleep naked?”

I feel the cotton of his t-shirt, and as I nudge deeper into his lap I realize he’s wearing boxer briefs. Feeling his flesh against mine would be preferable. “Yes, you should try it.” But if he had decided to strip before climbing into my bed, we wouldn’t be sleeping.

His touch travels lower, across my hip, down my thigh, and back up again. If he’s interested in just sleeping together, he would have settled down, but now parts of me are starting to stir awake. His breath feels hot against the back of my neck. I flex against him, nudging my backside against his hips and with his gasp I confirm that he’s interested in something quite opposite of sleep.

“Ahh, Yuuri…” I turn to lay on my back, pulling him on top of me, one of his thighs between my legs and just having this feels wonderful. He seems surprised when I comb through the hair on the back of his head, and I sigh into his open mouth, and I grasp at his rear as I tilt my hips up. Very much awake, my body springing at the chance to feel Yuuri’s pleasure, his heat and his bulk and his girth in all these new ways.

But he feels rigid, less into this than what I had been hoping for. His hands dig into the bed when they should be grasping me, and his kisses don’t taste as eager as what I’m used to. He’s panting in the wrong kind of excitable way, like in a panicked way. That’s not what I want.

_“You okay?”_  I rub at his sides in reassurance.

From the dim light filtering through a crack in the curtain, I see him nod and wear that nervous smile. I don’t want him nervous, what reason does he have to feel nervous? _“It’s fine, I’m sorry.”_

Maybe he wants this to be a first? That was a long time ago for me, probably younger than what I was ready for, oh and I was nervous. Actually that experience was awkward and overwhelming and a little humiliating and probably wrong in many ways and not something I would want for Yuuri.

“Why did you come to my bed? Why did you wake me?” I slide out from under him, hold to his shoulders as we lay side by side. “Is it because you want to make love to me?”

“Is that what you want to do?” He presses his forehead against mine, and that’s cute. His arms are folded between us, knees touching, and he’s trembling. This doesn’t answer my question at all.

“Yeah, but we’re not talking about me right now. What do you want, Yuuri?”

He seems upset to be asked such a simple question, and he turns over. “I don’t know.”

So Yuuri came to my room, woke me up, started touching on me and after I’m hot and bothered he isn’t sure where he wants to take this. I try not to get irritated, because he’s not exactly required to know what he wants if this is all new for him. “How about we take it slow?”

“Okay.”

Pulling him into a gentle kiss warms him up a bit. He’s used to the kisses, he’ll even initiate them once in a while, when he’s feeling good about himself. I want Yuuri to feel that way now. My hands creep underneath his shirt. “Do you want to take this off?”

“I can…”

I’m hoping for a yes but before I have a chance to say anything he sits up and pulls the shirt off himself. He pulls me back over top of him for another kiss, embracing me around my shoulders and skin on skin, how I adore the feel of him. I nip at his jaw, kisses down his neck to his collarbone, everything about him firm and flushed. Yuuri clutches my hand like he needs something substantial to hold on to as I work down his chest.

“Do you like this?” I ask. He releases a long breath. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Victor, what do you like?”

I stop and lay back down over top of him because I really want that closeness. He also deserves to know that I’m pretty hot for him, with his toned chest and bulging thighs and I love the feeling of his arms around me. “You want to talk about what I like?”

“Well, I just want to get an idea of what… we could do? Possibly?”

“Wow, I’m up for a lot. Can I tell you some of things I want to do with you?”

Yuuri starts panting again and I wonder if this is a good or bad thing. I rise onto my elbows and shift some of my weight off of him. But then he starts caressing at my hip so I interpret that as he still wants me close. “Will you whisper them to me?” He asks in a tremoring voice. 

Lord Christ that is erotic.

I lay my head next to his, and nip at his ear. “I want to lick every inch of you, and make you feel good in places you didn’t know could feel that way. I want to know how you taste when I suck you off.”

Yuuri starts squirming in an eager way, loops a leg over mine and I think he wants me to keep going. “I want you to fill me up, Yuuri. I want to bounce on your cock just to hear your sex noises.”

He pulls me over top of him, bucking against my hips, yes, pulling at my hair as he kisses me hard. _“Tell me more.”_

“I want to fuck you so hard and fast that we ache from it.” Yuuri’s so into it, legs spread so I’m nestled between them. His hardness digs into me as he swivels his hips and I know he won’t ask for any relief. “Yuuri, I want to make you feel so good, will you let me touch you?”

He whispers, _“Ah… yes, touch me there.”_

Yuuri lifts his hips to pull down his shorts, and free from restraint I clasp him thick and hot and wet in my fist. He yelps from the sudden stimulation, how I pull gently, holding him tight around the shoulders as I continue whispering in his ear. “I like your cock, it would feel so good inside me. It would be so amazing to watch you fuck me, you would look so hot. Have you ever thought of it?”

All he can seem to answer with are “ahh~!” and “nnn~!” which I translate as “don’t stop,” and he would have a hard time convincing me to do so at this point. Yuuri moans into my neck, lapping and sucking every so often and that pleasure shoots straight down to between my legs. Rubbing against his cock only adds to his pleasure.

_“Victor… I want to make love to you…ahn~!”_

“ _You are, right now.”_

 

* * *

 

It’s a particularly intense training session, Yuuri practicing these combination jumps in the second half of his program. He tends to lose himself when he’s really focused, and the ice has him burning hot and fast. He calls to me, _“Watch me, blue eyes,”_ and I catch the meaning before it blows past me, like a sheet of paper tumbling in the wind current.

_“Aome_ 青目” a term of endearment that betrays his feelings of otherness about me. Everything about me pale blue and unobtainable, and the song of my past Renaissance lover, _“my white dove darling,”_ playing in my head, old memories wound like so much cassette tape. Those strange azure dream times.

Hasetsu feels like an azure dream time, a repeat of when I didn’t know what I wanted but I knew I hungered for something. Curious, how life’s themes repeat themselves, yet this time I’m without my long hair.

 

* * *

 

We barricade ourselves in Ice Castle, its cold, dry air the only respite from Kyushu’s oppressive humidity. This environment feels most natural on my skin, the kind of air my lungs are used to breathing. Starting practice early means that by the time we leave the rink, the temperature in Hasetsu is at its peak, and the sweltering wind off the harbor assaults us.

As a concept, the scorching heat of summer is reserved for exotic places. Back home, summer means I don’t have to wear a coat when I go outside. My skin burns here, and there’s no means for heat to evaporate off me. Sweat lies like a hot towel and no amount of water or shade delivers me from this.

Yuuri appears unfazed by it all, his body knowing how to cope with summer. He jogs beside my bike, sweat glistening, that sort of sheen that comes from sunscreen. Even if he does wear it every day, his skin is still tinged warm, like it thirsts for sunshine and he would be just as dark as his family if he didn’t spend so much time at the rink. He hands me his windbreaker and in minutes his t-shirt is clinging to his shoulders.

We head straight for the bath house at the inn, its steam addling my mind even further. I run the shower cold. I have to be shivering just to feel comfortable. In the dining area the mats feel cool under me, and I lie on them, watching Yuuri devour his lunch. How can anyone eat in these conditions? He insists I keep drinking water, keeps filling my glass, slippery with condensation.

Yuuri asks, _“Are you okay?”_

_“Too hot.”_

_“It’s cooler in my room.”_ With that hallway facing the north end and the garden just outside that, the sun doesn’t bear down as harsh. He opens the window to let in a whisper of a breeze. I throw back the covers on his bed, open the front of my yukata and plop over top of the cool, clean bedlinens. The afternoon has made me lethargic and all I can think to do is sleep through it. The pillow smells like wonderful Yuuri, sweetness and seduction Yuuri. I would ask him to lie with me, but he radiates heat and that’s the last thing I want.

_“Victor, is there anything I can do? More water?”_ I’m so tired of water, my body running through it as quickly as I can drink it, and its chill doesn’t stay in my belly long enough.

_“Make it winter.”_ A silly thing to say. I think of the perpetual winter of Ice Castle, and how winter makes the majority of the year in Saint Petersburg.

He sits on the bed, twisting my arms out of the sleeves of my yukata and after he lifts it from me he lets it fall to the floor. I lift my hips to allow him to pull off my shorts and I spread out naked on his bed. He runs his hand down my back.

“Yuuri, I would appreciate your touch more if your hands weren’t so hot.”

“I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”

He slips through the door, and a moment later is back with a bowl.

“What is your idea?” He sits down with the bowl in his lap. From it he lifts a piece of ice.

“Kind of weird… but I don’t like to see you so uncomfortable.”

The ice stings, sharp and frigid in the center of my back. What a relief, to feel that cold melt down my spine, Yuuri’s chilled hands working over my skin. As he trails up to my neck I shiver. He blows across my wet skin and it feels delightful.

Bent low over me he murmurs, _“How is this?”_ I close my eyes and nod, sinking into his pillow. Yuuri holds the ice in his hands a moment before running them under my arms, down my sides.

I dig my hips into the mattress. “Yuuri, you’re getting me excited.”

“I’m sorry, do you want me to stop?”

“No, it feels good.”

Yuuri has a habit of only reaching out for certain parts of me, mostly my hands, shoulders, my face. His caresses don’t often venture to the rest of my body, and now as he draws lower on my hips his touch feels hesitant. I sigh, for it tickles, I tremble from how a touch there ripples through me.

“Victor, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“It might sound shallow… your body is… more than beautiful. I don’t have a word for it. _Spectacular.”_ Even the word he uses in Japanese sounds ornate, or illustrious. “Sometimes I feel embarrassed to touch you. Maybe a part of me still sees you as too perfect, far from me?”

I turn over, one of my legs propped up on his back. “I don’t want you to feel that way, because I’m just me, no matter how beautiful you think I am.” I grab the ice from his hand and arching my back run it across my chest. Yuuri’s reaction, how his mouth hangs open and his blown out gaze is just too priceless. “Touch me everywhere, Yuuri.”

Ice melted away over my flushed skin, he bends down to lap at my chest. His tongue lashes with a heat in such contrast to that stinging ice that I gasp. He traces circles around my nipples before drawing them into his puckered lips and I feel that sensation jolt straight to the head of my cock, which he is forcibly ignoring. He runs down my stomach, to my hips, my arousal in plain view.

Yuuri must see the anticipation in my eyes, for he says, “Let me explore all parts of you, Victor.” He’s watched me for years, watched my body develop and change, but he’s just discovered it in this intimate way, not as his idol figure skater, not in the way the world knows my body and what it does. But his touch is reverent, for that is how he has come to adore me, for what I can do with this body. 

I lay a leg over his lap, legs spread about him as he meanders along, no urgency to this exploration. He looks as though he tries to record every detail of me into his memory. He lifts my leg to kiss the inside of it, close to my knee, watches me a panting mess as touches trickle down my calves. It sure would be nice if Yuuri would decide to take his clothes off, but he looks quite comfortable and composed and maybe I’m enjoying the attention a little too much.

“Don’t touch my feet, they’re wretched,” I say.

He stares at me. “Nothing about you could be wretched.” His tongue rushes thick against the arch of my foot and it wrings a trembling moan from me. Never have I felt so vulnerable, to be touched in this way. I stay my hands by grasping at my hair.

Yuuri sits back on the bed, and continues kissing my foot. _“Such splendid things you have done…”_ and I realize that this exploration of me is urged by the wonderment he feels, as though paying homage for what it inspires in him.

He kisses at my toes, taking them into his mouth, it might as well be around my cock for as erotic as it is, for the shock of it pools between my legs, twitching with need. I drape an arm over my eyes, like hiding my face can hide the frustration of it all, yet I revel in this ache for stimulation. Panting, hips bucking in vain I whimper, “Yuuri… please…”

“You want me to…?”

“Yes! Oh my God!”

I don’t understand why he’s so bashful when it comes to my cock. Maybe it’s a milestone for him, like once he crosses that threshold there’s no turning back. Maybe wants to save this part of me until the last possible moment. Maybe he’s a complete tease, the simplest and most plausible explanation.

But instead he darts off the bed and starts rummaging in his dresser for something. He comes back with a small bottle. “May I…?”

“May you what?”

“Well, I’ve done it on myself but I’ve never…” Yuuri’s furious blush gives it all away. I stifle a laugh because I don’t want to embarrass him but the way he approaches this is innocent beyond compare to any encounter I’ve had similar to this.

“You want to finger me?” I bend my knees, opening my position further on the bed. “Or do you plan on taking this further?”

“Just—!” He wags his fingers. “Is that okay?”

I nod, and settle myself into a comfortable position. Yuuri situates himself between my legs to where I’m lifted slightly into his lap, everything exposed to him. He dispenses the thick lube in his fingers, and even has the curtesy to warm it up before reaching the cleft of my ass. The gentlest of touches, yet I inhale sharply like this is new for me too, but I’m just giddy with anticipation, his touch a wash of relief but not nearly close to satisfying. He massages around the hole, his other hand grazing up and down my thigh, maybe more for his assurance than mine.

“Yuuri, what are you waiting for?”

He coats a finger, and he almost looks surprised when it slips in with ease. Well practiced, relaxing into that touch takes but a moment, and Yuuri isn’t ready for me to push my hips into it, until he is lodged almost to his knuckles. Softening to this familiar fullness, I sigh deeply, pleasure thrumming deep but still below the threshold of the ecstasy I crave.

Yuuri licks his lips, appearing hesitant, cautious with his movements. “Another?”

“Yes, fill me, Yuuri…”  The pressure of more has me clenching down for a second and it surprises him, afraid he’s going to hurt me, but I reach for him in reassurance, “deeper, ah yes!” as he plucks that sweet spot, that cock-twitching, toe-curling sensation that makes me want to buck harder, gasping high in my chest.

Yuuri has me pliant under his touch, and I want to be vulnerable for him. Let him see me so affected by him, let him rattle me to pieces, just like he’s shaken apart my heart, because coming to him wasn’t enough for him to realize this. Putting my career on the line and my life on hold wasn’t enough, so let him take this too, my composure and decency, have me most humbled, because I can trust that he’ll respect and cherish this too.

For the way his soft eyes look enraptured, how he braces my hip with the most supportive touch, yes, I never need you to be the most experienced lover, Yuuri, just the most eager one, the most loving one.

He drives me to the edge, that maddening brink of spiraling euphoria and he must see it in the strain of my features, how my fingers twitch to finish myself off, but at this point what my body receives is his decision, his course to take. The palm of his hand curves delicate over my twitching sac, grazing as he continues to drive deep into me. “Victor, you’re so amazing…”

“Yuuri… I can’t stand it…” My cock is strained and aching for having to stand erect so long without any alleviation. “Finish me, I’ll come so hard…”

And he does, his grip certain and solid around the base, like he’s drawing this current through me, rushing back and forth, no increased speed just a build to the intensity of his rhythm. How I throb in his hand, clench around his intrusion into me, my hips erratic and all the while he possesses that stoic fascination, my wondrous Yuuri, yes I am yours to take.

“Victor…” Please say my name again.

“So good…” His eyes widen as he feels me approaching, the urgency to spend, panting, whimpering.

“Victor…!” And all it takes is that last push and pull to drive me hard, teeth gritting, hips lifting and a single glorious guttural cry. I fist into the bedlinens, spend furiously and I’m scorching from the effort of it, yet I shiver as he pulls me through my orgasm. All the while he chants, _“How beautiful…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot damn, I know right? 
> 
> So I have this headcanon about young Victor. Okay, I have a fair few. Very shota. There might be a story there? 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has given kudos, left a comment, you are all darlings. <3 One chapter left.


	5. 長月

Yuuri practices his free program, and I stand to the side watching, meditating on the blue of the sky, of the ocean, the head and heart, of emptiness and fullness. He spreads his arms before the lunge and I think of seagulls drifting above the waves. He travels so far in the air during that triple axel. As he touches down it’s almost as if the ice is a buoyant thing that cradles his landing.

And he jumps again, and again, another combination, the rhythm of the music like an intrepid heart, plunging into each risky maneuver. As I watch Yuuri I think, keep your center of gravity low in the belly, where yearning resides.

 

* * *

 

A package arrives at Yu-topia for me, and I am extremely grateful to finally have it in my hands. A week before Yuuri’s national championship and I was starting to worry it wouldn’t be here in time. I don’t trust Japanese postal service because anything international takes weeks to deliver, no matter how much I pay for shipping. Even though I want it to be a surprise, Mari wants to be nosy, _“What is it?”_

_“Surprise,”_ I respond.

_“For Yuuri?”_ My lack of response confirms it and even though I shuffle away the box to my room before Yuuri can notice it, she mouths off to him in passing, _“Victor has something for you. Must be special.”_

I wanted to wait until the next morning to surprise him at practice, but it can’t be helped, and as he rounds the corner to the TV lounge he has that inquisitive look about him. Hiroko brings us supper and looks like she wants to be let in on the surprise, even if she won’t say a thing about it. She lingers by our table as Yuuri says, _“Mari says you have a surprise for me?”_

At this rate everyone in the inn must know because Mari doesn’t keep anything to herself. I’ve come to learn that’s just the way of things in Hasetsu, with everyone in everyone else’s business. So much so that people in town even come up to me asking personal questions about Yuuri’s well-being, the unspoken assumption being that I am close enough with him to know these things. Which I am. How others are aware of just how intimate we are feels almost invasive. Yet it’s treated as a matter of course, for people don’t ask to be nosy, they ask because they see me as included.

It’s almost like they want me to stay.

Yuuri sits with legs crossed, open expectation. Maybe he already knows what I had planned to surprise him with, because he had even told me a little over a month ago, “Can you pick it out? I’m not good with these things.” And as a coach, if there’s one more thing I can do to ease his mind and make him more confident in his performance, I’ll happily do it. Yuuri makes it so easy to want to share with him, he makes giving feel so good.

So I hold to his hand over the table top and smile, which every time I do that he melts. _“Let’s eat first, and then I’ll give it to you.”_

We head to the bedroom where the box is stowed under my bed, even I hadn’t opened it to check its contents, to make sure that everything was in place. I’m pretty confident, because I’ve been working with this designer for years, and I’ve learned what to expect from his commissions, which is nothing but the best. While not the most expensive ensemble I’ve ordered from him, the price tag is still not a number to scoff at. I don’t waste my time on cheap.

I pull the package out, still in its shipping box. “I’ll let you open it. It’s yours. Don’t worry about paying me back for this.”

Yuuri looks like he’s about to drop it. “This is for the program, right?” I nod. “No, Victor, you can’t, that’s too much—“

“You don’t even know what it looks like, so how do you know?”

“Because I know you, you probably went all out on this costume—“

“Yeah, I did—“

“and you can just add it to your coaching fee—“

“I’m not adding what I consider a gift.” And I haven’t even told him what my coaching fee is, because even I don’t know what that figure is, that bit was just another stunt to get him motivated in the first place. In his mind he probably thinks he already owes me, but I’m not so sure I agree with that.

I hand him a box cutter. “If you don’t like it we can send it back, and you can skate naked. I’m sure you can still win with the point deduction.”

“You’re joking, right?” I nod, remembering that sometimes sarcasm is lost on him.

Yuuri sits on the floor and slices the box open. Inside is a finer clothing box, heavy board with a suede-feel finish, and he lifts it up, pushing cardboard and bubble wrap aside. “I’m nervous to open it.”

“Afraid you won’t like it?” 

“No, that’s not it.” Maybe Yuuri will like it too much, feel guilty that I really did go all out for this one. Those hand-sewn crystals come at a premium. I like to think that my designer and I came to strike a good balance between something stately with the right sprinkle of brilliance. Anything too ostentatious makes Yuuri look childish.

He lifts the hinged lid back, and underneath the leaves of tissue paper it rests folded, and a hundred pinprick-prisms dot the room as he pulls it from the box. “Oh Victor…”

“Oh wow, that did turn out nice!” The majority of the most dazzling crystals are sewn into the shoulders and upper back, where the most light will catch them, so he can sparkle at every angle. It will look stunning with the right camera lens. “Turn it around, look at the back.”

He does so and gasps at the embroidered beadwork, which I knew took over twenty hours to complete. Never mind the fact that the suit is made from the finest materials. He paws over this exquisite handiwork, notes the lining, the silk of the undershirt.

“I wanted something less fluttery for this one because you already have that going in the short program but… hey… Yuuri, what’s wrong?” His face is scrunched up in that he’s-about-to-cry kind of way and I’m afraid I botched something again. I kneel down beside him just as he drops the suit and buries his face in his hands. Poor thing, he’s overwhelmed again and I try to keep myself from chuckling. Sometimes I just can’t help it.

“This is too much,” he sniffles.

“What, don’t you like it?”

Yuuri wipes his face. “It’s fantastic, I more than like it. I can’t skate in this, it’s too nice, I don’t own anything this nice.”

“Er… yeah you do. You own this, it’s yours.” I rub his shoulder in reassurance. “And you are going to skate in it, we’re doing a run-through tomorrow at the rink.” Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t surprise him tomorrow because I don’t think I’d be able to get him functioning for practice if he starts blubbering over a skating costume.

“Victor… why do you give me so much?” He looks at me with those puffy eyes, and it’s too cute.

I pull off his glasses. “Stop believing you don’t deserve to have nice things.”

“I’m just not used to it.” Yuuri takes a deep breath, and next thing I know his arms are around me, I’m pushed out of my squatting position to sitting flat on the floor, and Yuuri in my lap. “I don’t expect nice things to stay in my life for very long. I’m always afraid I’ll ruin a good thing, you know?”

“You’re not going to ruin anything…”

“And you always talk like you know for certain. But that’s just it, nothing is certain.” Something tells me we’re not talking about skating costumes anymore. “And it would be a terrible shame… if I don’t win the competition next week and I’ll only have the chance to wear this once.”

“Oh Yuuri… please don’t…” I can’t have him crying again, or worrying himself about losing, losing me—and the realization hits me. Despite this high difficulty program, despite his technical ability, if nerves win out and he can’t deliver in competition, there is no Grand Prix series for him. There’s no coaching job for me. There’s no reason for me to stick around. And it will all have been a waste. I can’t imagine Yakov taking me back after that.

And I’m really not ready to leave. My vision goes blurry, a lump in my throat, oh no I am not—

I pull him down to the floor, clutching his head to my chest as we lay side-by-side. “Hey… you’re going to make it to the Final, because you’ve done it before and you can do it again. And I’ll be there.” I kiss the top of his head, bury my nose in his hair because it’s comforting. “I’m going to be behind you every step of the way.” And maybe I’m murmuring this into his hair more for my own comfort than for his. “So take the damn costume. And say thank you. I hope you feel wonderful wearing it, because it will help you skate your best.”

Yuuri rises and smiles down at me. “I’m sorry. Thank you, Victor. I couldn’t have hoped for better. I’m really happy with it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” As I sit up he guides my face into his expectant lips, and his kiss startles me. There’s nothing particularly miraculous about it, just like any other kiss we share on a day to day basis, but he initiates this one when I’m feeling fragile.

And I have to be honest with myself. When the time comes, I won’t want to leave.

 

* * *

 

“Yuri on Ice” sounds like the ripples of water far out to sea that catch the sunlight just as it dips onto the horizon. The shocking transience of the reds and oranges that fade to pink, then indigo. Falling in love is like a sunset. As the music slows, it’s like stars pricked into the night sky, or the deep undercurrents that churn below the waves. When I look out on the beach at night I can’t tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. The finale of the song feels like a convergence of the two, like an ocean of stars drifting into eternity.

If Yuuri is such a bird in this composition, let him not be tinged lightly in some soft and gentle hue, but as the deepest twilight, starlight dusting his shoulders, and sparks painting the night. His heart dyed ultramarine, he’s only begun to understand the depths upon which he dances.

 

* * *

 

“What was that press conference, Yuuri? You think my terrible Japanese would keep me from understanding what you said entirely? _‘The first person I’ve ever wanted to hold onto?’_ Then why aren’t you holding me now?” I lie heavy on him in the king-size bed, wrapped around his naked chest and pushing him into the downy hotel pillows. A day trip to Fukuoka, in celebration of his championship win, was the excuse I gave him. Also, we won’t have much wind down time once the Grand Prix series is in full swing.

If I had called this anything remotely resembling what this really is, a romantic getaway, he would have never gotten on the train with me. It would have been far too simple for his sensibilities, as though the simplicity of a thing makes it lesser. Oh Yuuri, you fool yourself.

I don’t know when he started catching on. It could have been when the taxi pulled up to this hotel with its Western façade, and its marble foyer. Or when he realized I had booked one of the hotel’s suites. And had them deliver roses to the room before our arrival. And I had promptly hung the “do not disturb” sign on the knob.

Cheesy, I know, but some methods are just tried and true.

He doesn’t seem to mind taking his clothes off for me, and getting in the bed with me. And he still refuses to see this for what it is? A romantic love? An erotic love? How much more clear-cut do I have to be?

Yuuri holds to my shoulders in a sort of non-committal embrace. “I didn’t mean it in a literal way…”

“I know how you meant it.” He blushes. “You mentioned my name quite a bit. I didn’t realize just how much I mean to you. I’m touched.”

I roll against his hips, my cock prodding at him to stir and stiffen as well, because in this room we can get as loud and as wild as we want. The walls of my room at Yu-topia are so very thin. Yuuri bites his lip, trying to maintain some vain sense of composure. He’ll lose it sooner rather than later.

“Victor… I think you’re confusing love with… romance? Romance is fine, but… don’t you think we have more than that?”

“Yes of course.” I think of the shared passions we have, and the friendship we’ve wrought, how we make such an excellent team, and how fun it is to skate with him, and the admiration we have for each other, and how he has been my anchor in a place that is strange to me, my home away from home. This desire for his body and his sex bleeds into every other aspect of what makes Yuuri so special and intensifies the whole of what I have with him. “But I don’t think I’m mixing love with romance. Because love is a feeling. Romance is just an expression of it.”

I kiss his jaw, moving down to his neck, but he still doesn’t seem satisfied. “So how do you feel about me?”

“I feel like I have thrown myself at you, wanted to show my love in every way I can. Because it makes me happy. Sometimes think about… when…” All this talking is killing my mood, but just lying with naked Yuuri under the covers has a special kind of comfort. I cling to him tight and rest my head on his chest.

He finishes my thought. “When time will leave us.”

“…Yeah.”

Yuuri returns my embrace, sinking down among the pillows and pulling me closer into him. He kisses my cheek, at the corner of my lips, the tip of my nose, the very epitome of puppy love. He can switch to smoldering sexpot in moments, and so few would even suspect that aspect of him. As kisses are peppered over my neck Yuuri’s hands travel lower, following the curve of my back until he reaches my rear, kneading my ass. I undulate against this attention, legs widen and I sigh into his mouth when I kiss him once more.

“Victor… we have almost two months until the Grand Prix.”

I paw across his chest, caressing over taut nipple and firm muscle. “You have a lot of work ahead of you. I won’t go easy.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Yuuri caresses down my arms as he arches into my touches. “What will we do after…?”

“Let’s not talk about that right now.”

He grows thick and hard, thrusting against my thigh as his fingers thread between my cheeks. That raw, all-consuming ache funnels into the bottommost pit of me. I drip from the feel of it. Yuuri’s eyes smolder from the heaviness of his appetite for me, a mutual hunger for each other. I reach between us, collecting his cock and driving against him with my own. He devours my lips, wide-mouthed and tongues hot and slick, and his moan echoes through me.

If my eyes are like the sky to him, then let the rest of me be the ocean, rocking against him like sea waves, swallowing him up.  

I reach for the lube on the bedside table, gathering myself on my knees. In that position I take a moment to enjoy the view of Yuuri splayed below me, how he takes his cock in his hand as soon as my touch leaves him. Covers are thrown back. Neither of us is interested in finessing some artistry into this lovemaking. It’s just raw need. Bending over him on one elbow, I reach back with slick fingers to prod myself open.

“Yuuri, I want this with you. I want you inside me, filling me, fucking me.” I can’t help but moan as I stretch myself wider for him. He looks nervous, so I kiss his cheek. “Don’t feel like you have to perform for me. Do what feels good for you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you… or mess up or anything…”

“If something feels uncomfortable, I’ll say something. And this is lovemaking, there’s nothing to mess up.” At this position my reach is shallow, but I only have to widen myself to accommodate his girth. Just thinking about the entire length of him burrowed in my ass has my cock tip leaking. Watching me work myself up has a delightful effect on Yuuri, and he takes the lube to slick himself generously.

“Victor, what do you need from me?”

My chest flutters a little bit from his question, like the thrill of stepping out onto untouched ice. When I pull my fingers from myself I feel a broad emptiness, and I know I’m ready.  I reach back and urge him to bend his knees, plant his feet on the mattress. He’s so familiar with how my touch instructs him, pliant and responsive. Seeing his panting chest I place my palm there and shush him.

“Just relax, breath deep.” He nods, and I wait for him to slow his breathing. I hold to him, stroke him deep and low, and his eyes close, relinquishing so much trust to me. “You’re so gorgeous, Yuuri.” I raise myself up to squat before him, poised just at the tip. “Breathe with me.”

Inhale.

Yuuri clings to my free arm, eyes shut tight as he feels me clenching over him, and I ready myself.

Exhale.

Muscles soften, and he slides so easy and I watch his eyes blown wide, the blush bloom over his chest. I throw my head back, for that initial entry is like that two second thrill before the start of a program, when I don’t know how it will go, but Yuuri’s throaty gasps bring my back. I lean forward and hold to his shoulders.

“Okay?”

He takes a hard breath in and out, but nods. “It’s a lot—ahn~!” He clings to my arms as I sink lower, breathing myself down into his lap.

I wait for us to adjust to it all, his cock stretching me, and his breath to even, and my rapid heart to calm. Yuuri needs me cool and composed for this, that’s what he’s come to expect in his trust for me. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good.”

“I’m going to move.”

“Please.”

I shift over him, easy, languid rolling, and already I feel that shock of pleasure shooting iron hard through me. “Oh Yuuri…” and my eyes flutter closed. I want to fuck hard on him, the kind I’ll feel in my thighs and my abs and my ass in the morning, but it might be too much for him. But as I hump a gentle rhythm Yuuri shifts his hips up to it, and begins making pace with me, and that steely sensation goes red hot and my cock twitches from it. “Oh fuck…!”

Below me Yuuri’s temples shine with sweat, his hair splayed over the white pillow, open-mouthed as he draws up to jerk against me again, and again, and I realize he doesn’t intend to make this long and drawn out. Nope, we’re fucking. This is a short program.

“Victor… closer.” He props himself on an elbow, reaching to me, so I pull him into a sitting position. I shift lower, cradled against his legs as I wrap mine around him, as he rocks fierce against me, clawing and grasping for something to hold through this. The position change has him hitting that sweet spot harder and hotter and I’m seeing stars popping in front of my eyes from it.

I didn’t want to urge him in this position because it’s a difficult one to leverage, even if I really like it. So he compensates by wrapping his arms and lifting me in time to his rutting motions. All the while he moans into my chest, unabashed in his graceless fucking but I don’t care because it’s Yuuri. His jerks become more erratic.

“Victor… I’m…!”

“Yes…” and I grasp my swollen cock, grateful I haven’t given it proper attention until this moment because the pleasure of it all crescendos as he drives into me, wailing, our chests slick against each other, and I feel it coming so I clamp hard around him and burst. Fucking him is an exaltation, and he blesses me with a kiss as he spends deep and loud, shuddering to pieces.

As he pulls from me and we collapse on the bed I realize I am going to feel this for a while, my ass strained from a heavy pounding especially. My legs feel stiff, the wind drawn from me, my mouth parched. Yuuri takes a minute to find his breath again before I feel his hands on me. I flop over to face him and he pulls me into a kiss, the kind he gives with his whole body, legs looped with mine and an embrace pushing me into his hips, and his mouth pulls deep and I sink into it.

“How are you?” Yuuri whispers.

I nod my head. “Good. You fucked me good. And I could use some water.” He rolls over to stand from the bed and as soon as he does his legs give out. “Take your time.” I watch him walk to the wet bar with that post-sex shuffle and I know it must have been good for him. He comes back with two glasses, and I gulp mine down and promptly throw myself into the pillows again.

Yuuri spoons around me and we doze for a moment, somewhere in that haze between sleep and awake. Having Yuuri cuddled against my back, how he holds me so tenderly, I would miss it. And sharing meals with him. And boring evenings watching television that I can’t understand. And trips to the store. And sitting on the beach. And now this.

“Victor?”

“Hmm?”

I turn over and his eyes are so wide with love and maybe there’s so much he wants to say but can’t find the breath to say it or maybe there’s nothing to be said at all. He has a way of making silence mean something, wades in it until the moment passes. Then he caresses my cheek. “I know you were going to order room service, but do you want to go somewhere tonight?”

“Anywhere you want.” I smile. “Let’s shower first.”

Yuuri is the sort who never wants to be still for too long. We run out into the night willing to make a time of any bar, whatever food grabs our senses first, whatever sound will make us dance the hardest. We stay out well after the trains stop running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this needs a part two. I have ideas, but it's probably going to be a while before I get to that. Then again, every time I say I'm going to put down writing for a while to focus on my other projects, do I do that? Haha, no. -_- 
> 
> A lot of my own tender feelings went into this piece. Writing has always been a means of self-introspection, and it's forced me to think of my own explorations of love in my life. That was one of my big take-aways from the series itself. Please leave kudos, and if you're feeling particularly loving, leave a comment because they sustain me <3 If you are so inspired, tell your friends to read this too ^_^


End file.
